


half the world away

by timelxrd



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Jack being Jack, Rescue Mission, follows s12 ep10, jack wants to lock them away in a cupboard and let them have at it, lots of heavy eye contact, thasmin being dumb gays, yaz and jack working together to rescue thirteen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23033254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxrd/pseuds/timelxrd
Summary: Locked up in a prison cell to live out the rest of her days, the Doctor is left with no choice but to dwell on her most recent discoveries while those around her only chip away at her reserve.Half a universe away, Yasmin Khan comes to the conclusion that, sometimes, the Doctor needs a helping hand just as much as the next person.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 105
Kudos: 329





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'd just like to say a BIG thank you to @paintedviolet for giving me this idea and encouraging me to write it!! 
> 
> also this is un-beta'd and a little rushed but i'm trying my best folks

The closest three hundred and sixty-two asteroids have been saved and catalogued into the back of her mind approximately thirty times a day since her first introduction to prison two weeks ago. 

Four hundred and twenty recounts over the last three hundred and thirty-six hours. 

So not to lose it, she utilises every section of her overactive mind as much as she can. 

She thinks of Ada; of her gorgeous brain and unwavering enthusiasm. 

She thinks of Ryan and his obsession with the games room aboard her ship. 

She thinks of Graham and his magic ability to make the perfect cup of tea. 

But most of all, and, impossibly so, she thinks of Yaz; dreams of Yaz; talks to Yaz’s invisible presence; breathes in the remnants of her scent on her coat; treasures it, sleeps nestled into it. 

Once, she forgoes her resilience to cry silently into it.

The four deep steel walls were her constant for the first five days of her imprisonment, but, on good behaviour, the canteen has been a welcome change in her routine. There, however, only frightened glances and audible gulps greet her by other prisoners despite the friendly softening of her features. 

When she does talk her voice is hoarse with lack of use and cracked by exhaustion. Day by day, her title as a doctor of hope teeters on collapse. With her stimulation constricted, she passes every hour in quiet abandon until nightmares shake her awake and she is forced to dream up dark hair and a soothing voice to keep herself throwing her fists against the door. 

“They say you killed your people,” a voice comes from behind her, followed by a presence at her side. The Grenetian who takes the seat beside her has four eyes and antenna, each trained solely on the Time Lord. They are known as scavengers; of precious gems, priceless gold; royal bodies. The woman’s claws tap against the table, the continuous four-beat rhythm enough to send the Doctor’s pulse thrumming in her ears. “Your entire planet, burnt to the ground.”

“Don’t,” she voices in a whisper, sliding a plate of untouched food aside and moving to stand; to get away; to seek refuge in her silent cell where she can imagine those accusations enough. She does not need the reminder outside of her four lonely walls. After all, there is responsibility found in participation. She did not stop the destruction. 

“They also say you ran,” she continues with a gleeful smile, needle-like teeth tinged yellow. The Doctor works hard not to allow the stench of each exhalation to sour her expression, swallowing around the guilt settled like a stone in her throat. “Like a coward, you allowed someone else your burden — your task; your _death_.”

Kicking her chair from beneath herself with an echoing clatter, the Doctor steadies her breaths and drops fisted hands to her sides. A guard approaches without hesitation, snapping a set of cuffs tight around her wrists and guiding her back through the steel corridors. She goes without protest, head hung low while blonde hair veils her broken expression. 

When strong arms shove her past the doors to her cell without unshackling the instruments binding her hands together, her head collides with the cool floor and her vision blurs to black. 

No nightmares purge her that night. 

* * *

Two weeks. 

It only took two weeks for Yaz’s life to shift out of its axis and leave her trailing after it, anguished and uncaring to anything but thoughts of an alien and her blue box. 

Her boss, bless him; he’d been awfully sweet — but missing three days in a row, then another five due to reasons unknown and unnamed gave him no choice than to let her go. 

She’d been upset, angry, frustrated, of course, but more so because the news didn’t make her feel anything at all. 

Her parents have granted her leverage, for now, but they can count on their fingers the number of times she’s left her room since the day she’d returned home, silent and forlorn, and locked herself away for twenty-four hours with no explanation. 

Noticeably concerned for reasons only Yaz understands, Sonya is the one to knock at her bedroom door two Sunday’s from the fateful day, a bag of popcorn tucked under her arm and two brimming hot chocolates in hand. She slips inside silently, reaching for Yaz’s discarded laptop and dredging up her Netflix account to play a cheesy rom-com Yaz tries her utmost to pay attention to. She’s a warm, solid presence at her side while she nestles into place in her polka dot pyjamas. 

“We don’t have to talk,” Sonya voices through a mouthful of popcorn, eyes on the screen while Yaz cradles her favourite mug between her palms. “I know something’s wrong; that something happened, but if you’re not ready, there’s no pressure.” 

Yaz gulps around a lump in her throat, jaw clenching in stubborn refusal to let the dam burst. Her eyelids are brimming, so she takes a sip of the steaming liquid to swallow her emotions down. 

She can sense eyes on her even before she breaks, the sweet, sugary notes on her tongue a reminder of an energetic alien with dangerous sugar intake and an affinity for rainbows. 

“Yaz,” Sonya breathes in a tone gentle enough to coax the first in a stream of tears from dimmed pupils. She scoops the mug from Yaz’s hands seconds before it spills, setting it aside and curling her arms around shoulders which shudder with a heaving sob. 

Breathing raggedly against her collarbone, Yaz bares herself to the swell of grief she’s been guarding securely for weeks. All the while, Sonya rubs a hand down her back, heart surging. 

“I think she’s gone,” Yaz croaks into her sister’s dampened t-shirt as soon as she can steady her breaths enough to do so, brows pinched and cheeks stained. 

“Who?” Sonya probes gently, re-braiding her messy hair. It’s greasy and knotted and she makes a note to force her to shower as soon as possible. “Your weird girlfriend?”

“She’s not…” Yaz starts to argue, but a pointed look makes her defences wilt. “She’s not weird.” Then, with fresh tears, she chokes on another sob. “She _wasn’t_.”

Arms secure around strong shoulders, Sonya murmurs her words into the top of her sister’s head. “What do you mean… you think she’s gone?” 

“I don’t know — I thought maybe she would’ve found a way out. She always does, but…” She takes a steadying exhale, suddenly sitting up despite the half-done plait in her hair. Sonya fixes her with a faux-exasperated look. “That was two weeks ago, and there’s been nothing.”

“Maybe she… I don’t know… found out about a new conspiracy and got distracted?”

Despite its unlikeliness, the thought makes Yaz give in to a teary smile. “I’d take that over anything right now.” She shifts, reaching out for a pillow to hug to her chest while the film continues to play between them. “But if she was fine, she’d have come back,” she adds, a tear tumbling down her cheek to pool against the dark purple fabric. 

She thinks back to a steady, open gaze she’d only dreamed of before the Doctor had sent it her way, minutes before her sacrifice. In the exchange, reciprocation blossomed were words were deemed unnecessary. Selfishly, her heart constricts. “She’d have come back for _me_.”

Silently, Sonya nods, holding back a teasing _I told you so_ for a more appropriate moment. “There’s got to be a simple reason. Maybe she’s got herself stuck somewhere. She seems the type to have that kind of luck.”

Yaz can’t deny her that point, and, wiping her cheeks dry, she settles back at her side. 

“And even if she is… gone, you’d be able to tell, right?”

“Something does feel off, yeah,” Yaz admits, toying with a loose thread at the seam of her sheets. “She can't be gone. Not just like that. No way.”

But that would make her sister’s theory right, and there’s nothing worse than admitting it. “This is a really shit film.”

She can practically hear her smirk before she sees it. “Not as shit as you smell, loser. You could really do with a shower, not gonna lie.”

“You’re the worst,” Yaz groans, shoving her pillow in her smug sister’s direction and swinging her legs off the bed to head for the bathroom. “You better be gone by the time I’m back. Can’t believe I even let you in.”

“Love you too, sis,” Sonya sniggers, refusing to budge until Yaz returns freshly-showered and they’ve endured the rest of the film. 

_Soft emerald seeks her out until deep brown flits home and suddenly, the space beneath her ribs doesn’t seem so cavernous. Warmth floods her system like emergency generators finally kicking into action._

_The Doctor’s cheek is pliant and soft and pleasantly flushed beneath her palm when she reaches out to cradle it, and, with a sigh which reaches the very depths of Yaz’s being, the alien sinks into the contact like a warm hug._

_“Don’t lose hope,” the blonde implores gently, lashes fluttering. There is no world surrounding them, only a blanket of familiar gold — the console room, perhaps? — but it does not exist beyond their steady gaze. Nor should it._

_“I miss you,” Yaz replies, dropping her hand if only to melt into arms which open for her. The double beat of the Doctor’s hearts is distant but she can sense it fluttering with their proximity. “Where are you? Are you in danger? Are you still — are you even **alive**?” _

_“Oh, Yaz. My Yaz,” she sighs, drawing her in until Yaz’s head falls against her chest and she can listen properly. The steady thud beneath her calms the anxiety constricting tight and stubborn around her own heart. “You’re brilliant. You’ll figure it out.”_

_“Figure it — Doctor, what do you mean?” Yaz draws back to meet her gaze again, capturing the familiar golden flecks dispersed between brown and green. “How?”_

_“The twenty-first century is full of technology, Yaz.” This time, it is the Doctor who cups Yaz’s cheek, thumb brushing under her eye while she smiles, entirely too trusting. “Utilise it.”_

_“But —” Yaz blinks and she’s gone, dissipating into the air like dust blown from a polished surface or smoke extracted from a burning room. “Doctor? **Doctor**?” _

Yaz wakes with a cry. She thinks she calls the Doctor’s name — she’s not quite sure. The sheets are too tight and her bed is too enclosed and she’s more awake than she’s felt in a while, so with silent movements as not to wake the rest of the Khan’s, Yaz pads over to her desk. 

The light from her laptop screen is blinding when she drags up her browser and submits a search.

_The Doctor. Time Lord. Gallifrey._

She remembers observing the Doctor hack into the mainframe of MI6, and so when her basic navigation turns up nothing useful, she applies her knowledge as best she can at two in the morning. 

Just shy of Earth’s moon, a stolen TARDIS rings loud and abrupt with an alert. Jack skids towards the scanner, studying the readouts through an intrigued frown. “Someone’s broken into UNIT to run an in-depth search on the Doctor. Can’t be the Judoon; they already have her, so…" He narrows the search, picking up on the weak IP address in question. "Ah! Bingo. Excellent hacking skills, Yasmin Khan.” 

Reaching for the materialisation lever with a grin and a cheer, Jack clings to engineered metal while the ship launches into flight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow!! I truly wasn't expecting such a response to the first chapter of this so thank you so much guys!! I'm not quite sure I've done this chapter as much justice but honestly, I'm just impatient to have these two reunited and it to be happy and gay all over again
> 
> thank you to @paintedviolet for your continued support and enthusiasm!!!! 
> 
> enjoy!

The whirr of specialised engines is out of place to its source when, with no prior warning, a varnished wooden cupboard dotted with stars materialises just shy of her bed. 

Hope floods through her system in a rush which turns her legs to jelly and her mind reeling. 

The double doors don’t open right away but Yaz is frozen to the spot, hands clenched at her sides. 

Is it — no, it can’t be — but it _must_ be. 

“Doctor?”

“Oh, _honey,”_ an American accent rings out from behind doors which click ajar. There’s a resounding crash before a familiar face appears, but it’s not who she’d expected at all. “I _wish_.”

Like lead, her heart drops to her gut and her features fall, head turning to the side to hide the tears threatening to surrender themselves.

Her disappointment is enough to make Jack draw back from the hug he’d intended to offer, a palm pressed to his chest and a gently teasing tone to his words. “Ouch. Not the normal welcome I’m used to, sweetheart.”

“Sorry! I’m really sorry — I just thought it was —” Yaz sweeps her arms around herself, coiling into the limited comfort it offers and lifting her gaze with a teary frown. “Are you here to tell me she’s gone?”

“Whoa, there,” Jack steps out of the cupboard, straightening out his coat. “The Doctor is _very_ much alive, Yaz. That’s why I’m here — I tracked the signal you sent out when you got through to UNIT. You should work on your technique, by the way. I had your IP address in under a minute.” 

“Wait, wait, _wait,”_ Yaz lifts her hands to bunch into his uniformed coat. “She’s alive?” 

“Alive and breathing, ma’am, and you’re just the person I need to get her back,” Jack confirms, letting out a faint _oof_ when strong arms sweep around his neck and all but _drag_ him into a hug. “See, now _that_ is a proper greeting. Glad we got that right in the end.”

“Where is she?” Yaz implores upon pulling back, reaching up to blindly wipe away a rogue tear and poised to approach the ship. “Can I see her?”

“That’s where you come in, gorgeous.” Jack leans against the wooden panel with a smirk. “Welcome aboard.” He nudges the door open with his shoulder and takes a step inside before turning abruptly. “Oh! And you might want to get changed first, as cute as those jammies are.”

Rolling her eyes in faux-exasperation, Yaz slinks over to her _actual_ wardrobe while Jack slips back inside. In all fairness, she’s far too eager to see the Doctor than to argue with his instructions. 

She changes at lightning speed. 

Clad in a pair of jeans, a flowery blouse and her signature maroon leather jacket, Yaz’s brown boots clink against the linoleum floor when she steps inside the stolen TARDIS less than five minutes later.

Jack is already leaning against the console, coat hooked up on a makeshift hanger to his right. Straightening, he curls his thumbs around navy braces and offers up a charming smirk Yaz is fast-growing used to. “Looking good. D’you dress up for everyone or just her?” 

Yaz’s eyes grow wide and her cheeks flare enough to coax a laugh.

“Can you just… tell me where she is?” Yaz implores pleadingly, crossing her arms over her chest for comfort rather than an imposing stance. 

With a surprisingly empathetic smile, Jack plucks a device from his pocket which resembles a modern smartphone. At the press of a button, a holograph of a giant asteroid merged with tall, dingy sky-rises springs up from the screen. “This is a high-security prison under the order of the Shadow Proclamation. It holds up to four thousand prisoners; most have committed mass-murder, genocide or the robbery of planets.”

“You can… you can _steal_ planets?” 

“‘Course you can, with the right tow.”

He’s joking, right? 

When he fixes her with a raise of his eyebrow, she finds her answer. But then she remembers why she’s here in the first place. “Wait — why are you showing me this?” 

In a distant corner of her subconscious, a penny drops. Her breath catches with the realisation. “Is that where she’s been this whole time?”

Jack’s slow nod and tight-lipped frown is enough of a response to send goosebumps up her arms and ice down her spine.

“Oh my God,” Yaz breathes mutedly, reaching out for the console when her legs turn to lead. Her mind reels with the sudden flood of guilt through her system. “I didn’t even — I should’ve done something sooner. Oh my God, I’m so stupid. She’s been there for two weeks, or even longer, and I didn’t even think to do anything.”

“Yaz,” Jack murmurs gently, touching a hand to her shoulder when she refuses to lift her gaze from her feet. “How could you have known? Don’t blame yourself.” 

“I thought she hated me,” Yaz divulges in a whisper, knuckles white with her grip. “I thought that’s why she didn’t come back right away. I thought she was angry that I didn’t put up more of a fight to stop her.”

Raising his hands to Yaz’s shoulders, Jack interjects with a firm shake of his head. “Okay, firstly; the Doctor was taken there from her TARDIS _seconds_ after leaving Gallifrey, according to my tracking signal, so she was probably just about to find you — and _secondly_ , she’s the most stubborn person I’ve ever known. I’m sure you did all you could. If anything, she’s probably just grateful you got away safely.” 

Yaz’s head ducks anyway, protective instincts slow to wither. Alongside her own stubbornness, it makes a guilt-ridden concoction. 

“I want to see her,” she manages finally, lifting her gaze in earnest. “Can I see her?”

“That depends.” Jack steps back, hands returning to his braces. “How do you feel about a bit of undercover work, Yasmin Khan?” 

Yaz’s head tilts, brow furrowing. In the wake of his revelation, her brain is slow to catch up and make her own deductions. He might just have to spell it out for her. “Undercover work?” 

“You see, there’s a prisoner named Sofia Bashir who’s set to arrive tomorrow morning, but if I manipulate the teleport to put you in her place… _bingo,_ you’re in.” He shrugs as though it’s the easiest plan he’s ever made. She figures he must’ve predicted these events. After all — the Doctor _did_ pay no heed to his previous warning. 

She should’ve guessed her actions would catch up with her eventually. And, it seems, the Judoon themselves. 

“Then I just need to find the Doctor and we can bring her back? Like a… like a rescue mission?” Yaz probes, pacing on the spot to encourage her mind back into Jack’s pace. “Wait — won’t they just bring her back when they see that she’s missing?”

“Aha! See, that’s where an underground network of alien convicts come in,” Jack taps the screen again, drawing forth file upon file of different species of aliens, some blue with tentacles, a couple with two heads and no ears, and others seemingly indistinguishable from humans. One such human-like being has been highlighted. He opens the file with a flourish. 

“This is Joanska Thera,” he starts, tilting his head at the projected image of the brunette, blue-eyed alien. “She’s the head of an intergalactic slave trade, has been for centuries, and I’ve managed to track down her location using this TARDIS.” He stops to pat the console, earning a whirr and a low hum. “She’s also a shapeshifter. If I can get her to take the Doctor’s form, she’ll live out the rest of her sentence in her place. She deserves it, that’s for sure.” 

“How can you make her appear as the Doctor? Surely she’d have to meet her first.” Yaz is in her element, it seems, hands on her hips and the right queries on her tongue. 

“Great questions, but I’m way ahead, honey,” Jack brags teasingly, rounding the console to slip free a pass. “I’ll be in disguise, too. I can intercept the maintenance staff and make sure she’s shifted as soon as she’s teleported aboard.” 

Nodding in understanding, Yaz meets his gaze. “Alright, I’m in.” 

“That didn’t take much persuading.”

Yaz’s heart constricts with anxiety, brows pinching in clear concern.“The longer we leave her, the worse state she’ll be in. She’s not as strong as she makes out to be, and if you’ve really known her for that long, you’ll know I’m right.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jack indulges with a mock-salute, but his lips twist into a thin line in seconds.

Yaz catches on fast, tilting her head and hooking a thumb through her belt loop. “Jack,” she murmurs, catching his attention. “What’s the catch?”

As soon as he moves to shake his head in dismissal, she arches a full brow. “I’m a police officer, I can tell when someone is withholding information, and you’re showing all the signs, mate.”

“A police officer; no wonder she likes you,” Jack comments with a smirk, wriggling his brows. 

Yaz blanches, but her frown deepens. 

“Fine, okay. There’s a catch.” Jack gives in, gesturing with his hands. “The prison she’s in has the best defences this side of the galaxy, so the TARDIS can only take a one-way trip before we lose it. _But,_ there’s a solar storm planned to hit in a week’s time. If we can hold out until then, the shield around the planet should be vulnerable enough for the TARDIS to slip back through. Then we can get out of there.” 

Yaz blinks. “So, what you’re saying is — we have to stick around undercover for a week, not being able to properly do anything but wait it out with her?” 

“Yep.”

The Doctor’s unwaveringly hopeful expression flits through her mind; a crinkle in the corner of her mouth and the familiar warmth to her pupils — and it’s enough to cement her decision to stone. She nods. “I reckon it’s worth it.”

Jack’s grin spreads at the appearance of Yaz’s own, adrenaline surging. “Oh, _yeah._ Look at us — the dream team. She’s gonna be so jealous.” 

* * *

There was a black marker pen tucked into her endless pockets when she arrived, and it’s one of the only items she’d managed to smuggle away. With a crease to her brow, she draws a line against her dark grey wall, marking off another full tally.

The navy overalls hugging her form are boring and uncomfortable and entirely not _her_ in comparison to her usual outfit, now tucked up and held in storage and completely out of her reach. 

She misses the rainbow emblazoned across her chest the most, a welcome sprinkling of colour against the offset of blue. And her coat — oh, that _coat._ Her chest aches with the prospect of any damage befalling it.

She caps the pen and tucks it into annoyingly average-sized pockets for safekeeping as she meanders to her sole window. Bars obscure the in-betweens, but when she rests her head against folded arms on the sill, she can make out enough to map out the stars and keep her mind ticking over. 

“That’s the constellation of Hecate, Yaz,” she points out to the empty room, crossing her legs at the ankle to better lean against her elbow. “Named after the goddess of ghosts, crossroads and magic. Weird mix, if you ask me. Don’t tell her that, though. She tried to turn me into a two-headed bat last time. Fancy that? Me, with two heads! You always say I talk a lot — I don’t think doubling that would do anyone any good.”

When she turns, it is with a gleeful grin on her face. 

Her sigh is defeated as it fades into the cold and the dark. 

“My fam,” she sighs when her legs give in, the wall cold and unaccommodating at her back when she sinks to the floor and draws her knees up. “Gotta admit, I miss you loads.”

Dried tears irritate the corners of her eyes when the door to her cell slides open with a buzz, two armed guards stepping into the room an unknown length of time later. “The canteen is open for breakfast, inmate.”

“Not hungry, boys,” the Doctor murmurs through a yawn, stretching out stiffened legs and rubbing foggy eyes.

“It is not a choice,” comes the voice, closer now, as she’s dragged to her feet unceremoniously and guided with rough hands into the corridor. 

With a groan, she relents, but the hold on her shoulder and elbow is no less bruising. 

“Hiya,” she starts around a sip of cheap, bottom-of-the-barrel tea ten minutes later when a new prisoner perches down two seats away. “I’m the Doctor, nice to meet you.” Wriggling fingers join to an offered hand and the Doctor puts on her politest smile. “What’s your name?” 

At the mention of her name, the green-scaled Silurian hisses and jerks away, scrambling from their seat to join the rest of the sector’s population at the other end of the table. 

“Right, yeah. Should’ve expected that.” She tucks her chin into an open palm, taking a sip of tea to distract herself from the now-familiar sting to her pupils. “Silly me.”

She’s counting down the minutes until she can return to her cell when the scent of coconut and honey clouds her senses and sends her mind into high alert, pulses rocketing. 

“This seat taken?” a choked voice comes from behind her. 

When she turns, she is to freeze to the spot, jaw falling slack and a whimpered sort of noise climbing up her throat. “Yaz?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final instalment!!!! I hope you all enjoy!!

The world hasn’t imploded in on itself, her tea has grown cold and Yaz is crying. She thinks she might be, too. If she wasn’t so bewildered, that is. 

“You can’t —” the Doctor starts, words wavering when Yaz sniffs, not even attempting to wipe glistening cheeks dry. “You can’t be here. Real. You can’t be real.”

“Doctor,” Yaz whispers the name like a prayer, legs like jelly when she sits down beside her.

Instinctively, the Doctor reaches out, but it is declared forbidden when a guard intercepts. 

“No contact, inmates,” the armed personnel grunts. 

“Please,” the blonde whispers, raising a hand just shy of Yaz’s cheek before a swift nudge at her side draws her touch back. She’s never been one for rules, but in the last few weeks alone, she’s learnt to simply obey. It’s that or another bruise to add to the pile. “Please don’t cry. I can’t—” _Comfort you,_ she wants to add. Yaz can read her as clear as day.

“Sorry,” Yaz sniffs, righting herself. “I’m sorry, it’s just —” she sets her hands on the table before them, and the Doctor copies until their pinky fingers are aligned, but not intertwined. “You’re alive.”

If she really is a ghost; a figment of her subconscious returning to haunt her, the Doctor will gladly accept her decline if Yaz’s presence feels this vivid. 

“Right as rain,” the Doctor murmurs in reassurance, but it comes out too quiet to ease Yaz’s worries. Blinking through the fog of relief clouding her mind, the Doctor’s head tilts. “How did you even get here?”

Fingers twitch in twin movements, yearning and desperate to entwine and anchor.

While the Doctor’s gaze is set on their hands, Yaz takes her features in, noting slightly gaunt cheeks and the noticeable bags under her bloodshot eyes. 

“Jack turned up. This was all his plan,” Yaz divulges, ensuring to keep her voice low. Brown eyes scan their closest vicinity before returning to the Doctor’s expression. She’s pleased to see the slowly-growing upturn of her lips, and the renewed hope usually ever present in her gaze. 

“A prison break? I should’ve known — this is the cheesiest idea he’s come up with to date,” she chuckles, the sound croaky with lack of use. “Is he here?”

“Yeah,” Yaz murmurs in turn, a breezy smile hoping to coax another from her tortured friend. “And he’d like a word with you about ignoring his warning,” she adds with a smirk. “So don’t relax just yet.” 

It is possible to find tears in her eyes when the Doctor laughs again, quiet enough not to draw unwanted attention. She leans her chin into her free hand the instant her elbow graces the table, shoulders drooping with the remnants of relief. “Of course he does.” A moment passes where her pinky finger nudges closer again, but a swift clearing of the nearest guard’s throat makes her jump away. 

From this angle, Yaz can see the sharp line of her jaw in closer detail. “Doctor?” she half-sighs, the tone chiding enough to make the Time Lord flinch. 

“Yeah?” she returns too lightly, lifting tired eyes from Yaz’s knuckles. She can already predict Yaz’s line of questioning, and in her gaze, she finds her answer. 

“When was the last time you ate?” she probes gently, brows raising the instant the Doctor goes to dismiss her concerns. “Or slept, for that matter?” Her gaze flits to the reddened mark at her temple and her heart plummets with the implication that someone had harmed the Doctor. _Her_ Doctor. “Have they been hurting you?”

“Yasmin Khan,” the Doctor breathes, smiling despite the fact Yaz already knows the answers. “You’re far too observant.” 

“And you’re avoiding the questions,” she asserts, police-voice slipping into place like a well worn mask. 

“They haven’t done half as much damage as I’ve done to myself,” the Doctor supplies, drawing her sleeve over her hand and picking at the material. “You know I’m not great on my own,” she admits, dropping her gaze to the worn surface of the table. “Too many thoughts. Brain’s too big to shut down.” 

Yaz wants to reach out; wants to sweep an arm around her shoulders and bury her face against her scalp and breathe her in; comfort her; do anything to slow her still racing thoughts. But there’s something she needs to know first. Perhaps she’s too nosey for her own good; perhaps she just _cares._ “You found something out that day, didn’t you? Or you saw something — something you didn’t want to.”

She can feel the way she shivers despite the distance between them. 

“Not ready to talk about it yet,” the Doctor whispers, hanging her head, drawing both hands together to fidget under her scrutiny, however gentle. “One day, but not today. Sorry, Yaz.” 

Yaz’s heart lurches in her chest and she has to fold her arms to resist reaching out again. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me at all, Doctor. Just — try and take care of yourself in the meantime? Please?” Her stomach twists when the Doctor looks up in barely concealed relief. “Don’t let it consume you.”

The Doctor’s nod is swift, pupils glistening anew. She picks at the bread stil sat on the plate before her, taking a bite as though to confirm her agreement. It is blue and tastes vaguely of peppermint. Shipped from Neptune, she concludes with a hum. “I’m ready to get out of here, not gonna lie, Yaz.” 

Yaz’s answering half-grimace is a blow to her gut, but in the knowledge that she isn’t going anywhere, she isn’t too plagued by it. 

“Jack has a TARDIS. Apparently you left it around for him back on Earth, disguised as a birch tree. He said we have to wait until the next solar storm in order to slip through the shields,” Yaz informs her, delighting in the way, successfully distracted, the Doctor continues to eat. “Which is next week, unfortunately.”

“S’the best you could do, don’t worry,” the blonde murmurs around a mouthful, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and exposing the familiar hands and stars connected to the delicate curve. It looks slightly odd with her slightly oversized navy overalls but no less adorable. “Have you tried this bread? Amazin’. Well — considering it’s prison food, anyway.” 

“Bit too minty for me,” Yaz supplies, sliding her own over when the Doctor eyes it like a puppy held back from a bone. “Go on.”

“Thanks, Yaz.” Crumbs tumble down, catching in between navy buttons while the alien finally gives in to the tension in her gut. “Didn’t realise how hungry I was.”

“It’s a good job I’m here then, right?” Yaz quips, stealing a sip of tea. 

In fond appreciation, the Doctor grins through another bite. “You have no idea.”

Every meal, from then in, is accompanied. There are no one-sided conversations or failed attempts to make acquaintances; no flippant remarks or biting arguments, and no full plates of cooled food. 

Yaz is there, foggy eyed and yawning every morning, playful and chatty every midday meal, and wistful and observant every evening. She is there when, accumulating enough cutlery, the Doctor tries and fails to build a tower to keep boredom at bay. 

And she’s there when, under the guise of a cleaner’s outfit, Jack drags her aside on her way back from breakfast and nudges her into a supply closet with a cheeky grin and a swift _don’t do anything I wouldn’t do._

The second she steps through the door, familiar arms sweep around her shoulders and draw her into the comfort she’s yearned for every day, every hour, every minute, for the past twenty days. 

Outside, Jack sweeps the floor just shy of the cramped room and whistles, headphones secured over his ears and a half-concealed smirk on his face. 

Nose nestled against the base of Yaz’s throat, the Doctor’s sigh melts against her skin and sends the hairs on the back of her neck upright. “Remind me to offer Jack anything he likes once we’re out of here,” she murmurs, sagging against her as soon as her arms have slinked around her waist, fists cloying in the fabric at her back. 

“I’m sure he’ll probably remind you himself,” Yaz chuckles, resting her cheek against the top of her head when she slumps against her as though settling in for the day. “Only twenty four more hours left, anyway,” she recounts in encouragement, giving her a gentle squeeze and earning a soft, grumbled hum against her neck. 

“Can you go through the plan again?” the Doctor quips if only so she can burrow closer and seek out the soft rumble of her voice against her ear. “Just in case.”

Yaz raises a hand to card through blonde locks while she recounts tomorrow’s mission, scratching at her scalp when she shifts and delighting in the muffled huffs and hums of contentment the action coaxes. 

By the time she finishes, the Doctor is set like putty against her, eyelids closed and breaths shallow as her forehead drops to her shoulder.

“Wakey wakey, Doctor,” Yaz whispers through a chuckle, jostling her enough to draw sleepy eyes up. Maintaining her hold, she brushes a kiss to her hairline and bares little mind to the huffed grumble the Doctor exhibits in response, raising her head. 

“Think y’missed,” she hums in a dazed state, offering up a lazy grin while her cheeks flush slowly pink. 

“I missed— _what_?” Yaz breathes in disbelief and surprise, brows pinching until the Doctor’s forehead comes to rest against her own and soft, slightly uneven breaths fall against her lips. 

“My lips, Yaz.” The Doctor inches forward, tilting her head. Relief and giddiness and newfound hope rolls off of her in waves, and Yaz is stuck in her axis. Not for wanting to avoid this, however. “You missed them.”

“Perhaps you should fix that,” Yaz whispers as though her pulse isn’t pounding in her ears and her hands aren’t trembling where they’re linked at the back of the Doctor’s neck, and her knees aren’t weak at the mere _thought_ of— 

All of a sudden, tenderly and sweetly, the Doctor’s nose bumps against her own and a quiet, keening little sound rises from the back of her throat. 

And then the door clicks open and Jack’s squeak is in quick competition with the solid aluminium’s stiff hinge. 

They spring apart a second too late, cheeks flushed and lips glistening while they right themselves. 

“Did you let a mouse in here?” the Doctor quips, voice lilting halfway through the question. 

“I thought I’d let you hug it out but I can’t say I didn’t expect to find you like this,” Jack jeers, shoving his hands into his pockets after setting his broom aside. “Let me know if you’d like a referee for your next tonsil tennis game.”

At her side, Yaz chokes on her tongue. “We didn’t even —” 

The Doctor only laughs, stepping forward to shove playfully at his shoulder. “Shut up, Captain cheesecake.”

His responding hug is a bit too tight for her liking, not to mention the fact he lifts her off the ground and swivels. Cursing her shorter stature this time around, she wriggles until he sets her back down. 

“I’m not a _child_ ,” she reels, hands on her hips. She stamps her foot, highlighting the cuffed nature of her overalls and only adding fuel to the fire. “Y’can’t do that.” 

“Alright, honey,” Jack chimes, exchanging a knowing look with Yaz — who can do nothing but giggle at the Doctor’s dramatic exasperation. “Love the new look, by the way. Very pretty. Not surprised you’ve got women fawning over you.”

Yaz’s cheeks set aflame and the Doctor clears her throat, wetting her lips and tasting only her counterpart. It does nothing to settle the fire in her gut. 

“Cheers, mate,” she retorts with a shake of her head, “Now if you could just step back outside for five minutes, that’d be grand.”

“No can do, I’m afraid,” Jack replies with the hint of a smirk, rocking on his toes. “They’re about to start their nightly patrols. Only managed to save you ten minutes. Guess you’re gonna have to continue this at a later date, ladies.” 

“That’s okay,” the Doctor shrugs. “At least I can be sure you’re not there next time.”

“Oh, Doctor.” Jack grasps at his chest, his free hand flying, palm out, to his forehead. “You wound me.” 

Yaz’s scoff breaks their back-and-forths, and with a squeeze to the Doctor’s hand, she offers up a shy smile. “Come on, let’s go before we’re caught. Don’t wanna end up here even longer.” 

“See? She’s smart,” the Doctor enthuses as Jack slips open the door into a darkened corridor. The lights flicker overhead, triggered by movement. At her side, Yaz’s cheeks pinken. “You could probably learn something from that, Jack.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Get out there before I take off without you,” Jack crows, directing them both through the door. 

“Laters, Captain,” the Doctor reels, slipping through the shadows towards her cell after exchanging a not-so-subtle look with Yaz which leaves her smiling bashfully.

“Trouble in paradise?” he quips when Yaz turns towards the opposite direction, a coy smile drawing the corners of her lips up. 

“Quite the opposite,” she hums in a daze, turning on her heels. “Thanks for sneaking us away for a minute. We owe you one.”

“Wait — wait! Aren’t you going to fill me in on what happened?” Jack calls as loudly as he can along the corridor, bucket and mop in hand. 

“Yaz! _Yaz!”_ the dark-haired woman hears from behind her as she heads off into the dark, lips sealed. 

* * *

The solar storm is set to hit just after their evening meal, and throughout, Yaz barely stomachs her food at the thought of their plan potentially failing. Her mind reels with guilt and anxiety, centring at her fidgeting fingers. 

“Hey,” the Doctor interrupts her spiralling thoughts before she can lose herself to them entirely, hand sweeping across the table to line up adjacent to her own, but limited to a lack of contact. 

When brown eyes blink across at her, she can see the tension still stiffening her shoulders in her peripherals. “I can hear you thinking from here.”

“Sorry,” Yaz murmurs, training her uneasiness through her bouncing left leg. “Just — worried.”

“About the plan? Don’t be,” the Doctor implores, leaning her elbows on the table and tilting her head. “It’s a brilliant idea.”

“I just don’t want you suffering here any longer,” Yaz replies in earnest, gaze set like stone on the Doctor’s warm pupils. 

“Believe me, since you turned up, suffering is the last thing I’ve been experiencing,” the Doctor attests with a smile which is far too soft to be legal on this side of the universe. “Granted, it’s hard not being able to —” she pauses, wetting her lips. Yaz follows the movement, unable to help herself. “To hold your hand — and — and stuff.”

Yaz’s brows lift in pleasant surprise, successfully distracted from her racing thoughts. She sends her a grin, delighting in the flushed tone to the Doctor’s cheeks before their eyes level again. “You know you can do that any time you like, right? Once we’re out of here, anyway.” 

“You’re going to regret saying that, let me tell you,” the alien quips, noticeably sharper and wittier than the state Yaz had found her in a week previous. She clears her throat when her gaze drops to smiling lips, swallowing thickly. “Actually, Yaz. About the other day, in the cupboard —” 

Overhead, alarm bells ring to attention, red lights flashing above each door. 

_Solar storm warning in place. Inmates, return to your cells._

The Doctor’s mind scatters and she hastily stands from her seat, meeting Yaz’s anxious but determined expression and beaming. “You ready?”

The storage cupboard is far too cramped for three bodies, let alone two. 

Jack’s elbow nudges at her ribs when he scampers past the door and into the room, the Doctor’s clothes stuffed into his arms and sonic in hand. He uses it to lock the door after himself. 

“Isn’t that my sonic?” the Doctor gasps, scrabbling for it like a puppy with a bone. 

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure _what_ it was when I first found it. You could’ve been a bit more subtle with it, Doctor,” Jack teases, wriggling his brows until Yaz catches on in silent mortification. 

The Doctor, however, does not. “Subtle? About what? I’ll have you know it has sixty nine more settings than the last one. She’s top notch engineering; my sonic. Always gets the job done. Very efficient.”

Jack blows out his cheeks as though bursting with a string of retorts. “Honey, you’re making this way too easy for me.”

“Wh—” 

“Um — so, when can we get the TARDIS here?” Yaz interrupts politely to keep the Doctor’s dignity (or lack thereof) intact and her own face at a regular temperature. It works, for now.

With an amused scoff, Jack raises the sonic just above the Doctor’s height range and eases his thumb over the button. “Right about now, I should hope. Hold onto your hats, ladies.”

“I still don’t get it,” the Doctor huffs, but as soon as Yaz slips a hand through hers and squeezes without hesitation, her mind falls into a hazy sort of quiet.

The wheezing protests of Jack’s TARDIS are a welcome distraction from anything and anyone for the few moments it takes to materialise around them, and as soon as they’re safely inside, the Doctor skids towards the console with renewed enthusiasm. 

“We have four seconds to get off this planet, Doctor,” Jack announces on his way to the console, where the Time Lord nods and sets course with hurried but fluid movements. It’s as though she’s done this millions of times before. The more Yaz thinks about it, the more she’s likely right in her assumption.

“And we’re _off_!” she enthuses, kicking out a foot to nudge the last lever into place and take off with a rumble. “Better find something to hold onto, these engines are new — she’s pretty powerful compared to the ol’ girl back on Earth.”

“Ever thought of taking in a younger model?” Jack teases from her side, where he grips at the panel for dear life. 

“Oh, mate. You should not have said that,” Yaz chides playfully, taking in the Doctor’s slackened jaw. 

Despite the turbulence, she has her hands on her hips when she shoots her old friend a glare. “Are you _doubting_ my TARDIS, Captain Jack Harkness?”

Yaz’s laughter drowns out the engines when Jack seems to wilt under the strength of the Doctor’s glare, even after they’ve landed. 

“The same TARDIS which towed _twenty seven planets_ back into alignment? Which survived war after war and a _heck_ of a lot of burnt toast?”

Jack backs up when the Doctor stalks forward, brows raising in question. “Okay, maybe I was a bit rash.” 

The Doctor’s grin returns and she shoves her hands into her pockets with a satisfied hum. “Much better.” 

“That’s you told,” Yaz snickers, nudging elbows with her counterpart when the floor beneath their feet has finally steadied. The Doctor spares her a giddy grin and it’s suddenly easy to forget they’re not the only ones in the room. 

“When you’re done fawning over each other, would you like to breathe air that doesn’t smell like prison for once?” Jack says to the room, seeing as though they’re both seemingly separate from it. 

“We’re not—” 

“What are you _talking_ about—” 

Their twin arguments only heighten Jack’s amusement, and with a roll of his eyes, he leads the way out. “Whatever you say.”

The grass is fresh and green and smells _divine_ in the gardens of the Sheffield housing estate they’ve landed in, the chameleon arch disguising the ship into its surrounding habitat in an instant. Yaz’s colourful complex sits at the end of the road and with a grin, the Doctor notes the proximity of Graham and Ryan’s home, too.

Yaz’s hand is warm when she reaches back for it and intertwines their fingers. “Catch up with the boys?” 

The younger woman beams, relief rolling off of her in waves. “Anything you like, Doctor.” She turns, though, before they set off, glancing over her shoulder. “Jack? You coming?” 

“Better not,” he murmurs as he leans against the door, his rejection forcing the Doctor to turn back too. “Got a hot date three years in the future to get to.” 

“‘Course,” the Doctor scoffs, breaking the contact with Yaz if only to jog forward and offer Jack a one-armed hug. “You better come back again sometime, alright? Don’t be a stranger.” 

“I’ll be back,” Jack supplies, pressing a kiss to the Doctor’s cheek just so he can send Yaz a knowing smirk. “Like a bad smell. You can’t shake me that easily.” 

“Thank you,” Yaz murmurs when it’s her turn to say goodbye, laughing into the squeezing hug Jack drags her into. “For everything.” 

Jack pulls back to offer the same kiss to her cheek he’d granted his old friend, ever the charmer. “Just _try_ and keep her out of trouble next time? Take care of her.”

“I don’t need _taking care of!_ ” the Doctor protests, slinging an arm over Yaz’s shoulders without thought when she steps back and Jack slips back through the door to his ship. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Aren’t I, Yaz?” 

When Yaz doesn’t respond right away, the Doctor huffs like a petulant child, turning on her heel and tugging on Yaz’s hand with muttered complaints. 

“I’ll try my best,” Yaz laughs, lifting her free hand in a shy wave. “See you around, Jack.” 

* * *

The Doctor’s cup of tea sloshes treacherously in her palms while she runs through the last three weeks to Graham and Ryan, who had each bore matching, grateful expressions from the minute she’d burst in through the door.

Yaz, for her part, simply interrupts when the Doctor loses track of her place and meanders off topic, and when her mug gets worryingly close to tipping into her lap. 

“So, fam. Where are we thinking of going next? Feels like _years_ since our last trip,” the Doctor probes once their retelling has concluded, sitting forward and gripping her knees like an enthusiastic school child. “I was thinking maybe the Mandasian water forests, the lazy river on Pluto, the food markets on Contella three...”

“Hey, listen, Doc,” Graham starts gently, and Yaz’s heart lurches at the indecision on his face. “That all sounds brilliant, y’know —” 

“ _But_? There’s a but there, isn’t there?” the Doctor assumes, hands fidgeting in her lap. Yaz wants to capture them, but the air is heavy so she simply aligns their shoulders to offer comfort where she can. 

“We’ve done some thinking, actually,” Ryan intercepts, studying the toes of his shoes and biting at the inside of his cheek. “And as much as we absolutely _love_ travelling all the time, with you, it’s — it’s not something we _need_ anymore. It helped us to grieve, before, but —”

“We’re not grieving anymore, Doc. Not half as much. There’s no need for us to run away any longer,” Graham continues for him, rubbing his hands together and forcing himself to meet the Doctor’s empathetic but crestfallen features. “And we’ve come out stronger, together. We’re ready to move on, now.”

“That’s —” the Doctor falters around a heavy swallow, nodding her head more to herself than in response to the boys’ explanation. “That’s great! Seriously. I’m — I’m glad I could help in some way.” She sinks into the couch as though told she’d never be able to eat a custard cream ever again. “So what you’re saying is — you don’t want to come along anymore? Ever?” 

“Oh, mate,” Ryan counters with a shake of his head, offering up a grin the Doctor can’t find it in herself not to return. “You can’t get rid of us that easily. We’re still happy to join you sometimes, just not _all_ the time.” 

“Oh! Right — yeah, not that I was worried or anything,” the Doctor chimes, blinking back tears she refuses to acknowledge but the rest of them can see clear as day. “That’s fine. More than fine. That’s _brilliant.”_

* * *

Despite her earlier chipperness, the Doctor is quiet when Yaz finds her settled in a rickety metal garden chair that same evening, taking in the stars from Graham and Ryan’s back garden. 

It’s clear Graham has taken up gardening in her absence, if the fresh daffodils and petunias are anything to go by, and, nudging an empty pot aside, Yaz takes residence in the matching chair at her side. “You okay?” she quips to the sky above. 

“Me? Yeah, brilliant. Always okay, me. King of okay,” the Doctor hums in return, tucking one of Graham’s blankets tighter around herself. With a bit of effort, she shuffles her chair closer so as to offer up half of the thick material to Yaz. “Keep warm, Yaz.”

“S’nice out, isn’t it?” Yaz probes when the Doctor genuinely seems content at her side, sweeping a hand under the blanket to curl around her own and squeeze. “Haven’t seen it this clear in ages.” 

The Doctor nods with a wistful smile, the one she only reserves for special sights such as these. “You can see Venus tonight, just left of the moon, and Mars just opposite. I went to Mars once,” she supplies, thumb grazing Yaz’s knuckles as she maps the distance between the planets. “Put me off drinking water for months.” 

“Is that why I only ever see you drinking tea now?” Yaz teases gently, nudging shoulders just before she settles against her. 

“I don’t _just_ drink tea, Yaz!” In the light of Graham’s solar powered table lamp, a moth darts and circles, never once settling. “I drink milkshakes too.” 

Yaz’s laughter melts into the cool air, clouding before her lips and catching the Doctor’s undivided attention. “Yaz, about the other day.” 

“The other — oh, right. Yeah,” Yaz nods, cottoning on through the slow pull of fatigue. “The not-kiss?” 

“The not-kiss,” the Doctor repeats with a huff of laughter, wetting her lips. It’s pointless, really, when they just turn colder. “Well I—” 

“It’s okay, if you want to — like — forget it or whatever,” Yaz intercepts before rejection can harm her first, preparing herself with a slow, hissing inhale. 

“Forget? Oh, _Yaz,”_ The Doctor turns suddenly, brows pinched until a line creases the clear skin between them. “Why would I want to forget?”

Yaz’s shocked silence speaks for itself. 

“Yasmin Khan,” she continues, shaking her head, “how could you ever think, for one moment, that I haven’t been desperately vying for your attention since the moment we first met?”

Yaz's features soften in surprise, brown eyes wide. “You — you _what?_ ” 

“I was scared, at first. Absolutely _terrified_ ,” she admits, because she’s on a roll now, and if she leaves it any longer, she may never give in and reveal all. “ But I had a lot of time to think, back in that place. And I reckon — I reckon sometimes it’s better if we just grab things with both hands rather than worry about what might happen in the long term.” 

“Doctor,” Yaz breathes, and her assumptions are confirmed.

The Doctor’s hearts flutter under the weight of her gaze and with a shy smile, she levels it. “Yaz, I don’t want to be your best friend — I want — I want _more_ . And I know you feel the same way — Gods, I _hope_ you do. That would be really embarrassing otherwise.” 

_More of the universe. More time with you._

The memory plays on repeat in the gallery behind her eyes as she awaits Yaz’s response, but all she could possibly say presents itself loud and clear in brown eyes.

The Doctor has to remind herself to breathe just before Yaz closes the distance between them, finally, _finally_ meeting her lips in a firm, impassioned kiss which leaves her limbs like jelly in seconds. 

Yaz tastes like hot chocolate and marshmallows and the Doctor chases the sweetness from her lips until she can curl an arm around her shoulders and draw her closer. 

“Does this —” the Doctor gasps between kisses. “Does this mean you —” she hums when Yaz nips at her bottom lip, slipping a hand into her hair. “— feel the same way?”

Yaz is laughing when she pulls back, half in the Doctor’s lap while the Time Lord simply gazes at her in a hormone-fuelled daze. “Yes, Doctor.” 

“It’s not going to change anything, right?” the Doctor hums, still reeling from the surge of adrenaline and heat eclipsing her hearts and mind. “We’re still — we’re still us?”

“Yeah,” Yaz breathes, tucking a lock of hair behind the Doctor’s ear and letting her earring glisten in the low light. She presses an experimental kiss just beneath it, smiling when the Doctor swallows thickly. “We’re still us.” 

“The Doctor and Yasmin Khan,” the blonde breathes, leaning in for another kiss, lazier this time but no less loving. “The dream team.”


End file.
